A/N: Oh my god, I am so sorry. Life has been kicking me in the teeth. You see, I got a new job and with my husband having to crack out commission like crazy this time of year, all my spare time was watching my son. I do have chapters written up for both Westminster Private Academy and Strange as Angels. It's just easier to long-hand than it is to type it after. But I will try to get something out to you all as soon as possible.
Thanks as always to my lovely beta.
The first time John met Death was when he was fifteen. Some friends and he were skinny dipping in a nearby pond, splashing about and having fun.
On the far side of the pond where it got really deep there were weeds and foliage that tangled the area. The boys were told to stay clear of that side of the pond, but they thought they knew better. They were weaving in and out, daring each other to go deeper and to stay in longer.
It was John's turn and he dove right in splashing and laughing. One minute went by and there was no sign of him. Two minutes went by and John still hadn't come out.
One of the boys called out, "Okay, John, you win!"
Another minute passed and the boys began to look at each other worriedly. There was a silent agreement and the two best swimmers dived in. When they found John he was tangled up in the weeds and he wasn't moving. The two boys worked weeds off their friend and pulled him to the surface.
They stared down at their friend. He was completely still, his eyes were closed, and his lips were blue.
Immediately, one of the boys started pressing down on John's chest, trying to get the water out of his lungs.
John felt light and warm. Peaceful. He could see his friend pounding on his chest, but that wasn't as interesting as the tall dark-haired figure in the black robe and matching wings. The creature came toward him and John got a better look at him.
His eyes were a piercing pale light. His body was lean and angular. His curly, dark hair was in wild waves about his face. His robes, which John had originally thought were black, glittered like thousands of stars. His wings weren't quite as black as John thought either. They were more a charcoal grey.
He lifted up his hand to touch the ethereal creature in front of him. The pale eyes of the creature crinkled in mirth as John's hand touched his face.
"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," John breathed.
Death shook his head with weary smile and scooped up the youth into his arms. John gasped at the cold embrace as Death leaned down to take his soul. The youth leaned up and met the immortal's lips with his own. At first Death gasped in surprise and then he deepened the kiss. John moaned and pressed himself further into Death's grasp.
Death pulled away with a sigh of regret. "You are a rare individual, John Watson. And because you surprised me, I will grant this boon."
The ethereal creature lifted his wings and flew into sky, leaving a stunned youth behind.
He began to feel like his lungs were on fire and he started coughing. Suddenly he was on the ground and being turned on his side as he spewed forth the murky water of the pond.
All his friends collapsed in a heap of tired exultation that John hadn't died. He looked up at them, trying to remember what he had seen, but it was fading into a grey mist.
The next time John met Death, he had been hiking across Europe during his gap year with his sister Harry and her friends. They were on a narrow mountain road with a steep drop-off on the one side and sheer cliff face on the other. Harry and one of the other girls, Clara, were fooling around and bumping each other's hips in play.
John rolled his eyes and shared a sidelong glance with the only other sane member of the group, Mike. He looked back in time to see his sister flailing at the edge. He dove for her just as she corrected and landed safely on the ledge. John on the other hand went over and down he tumbled.
Mike cursed and pulled out the climbing gear and hammer. He nailed the rope firmly to the side road and began his descent to find his friend.
Death looked down where John had landed, appearing for all the world like he had merely laid down for a nap, using a rock as his pillow.
He huffed in annoyance. "You know, I have other people to collect, you can't keep dying."
John looked up at Death and smiled that goofy grin of his. "Well, hello there, beautiful. What brings you to my neck of the woods."
Death ignored the remark and scooped up John to take his soul, but once again the young man connected their lips. Death moaned in frustration. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Then John's hands began to roam, up Death's arms, down his chest, across his back and the moan turned from frustration to desire. He pressed their bodies together and this time John gasped in surprise. Every nerve was on fire and he wanted more. More of what, he couldn't fathom. Just more.
"God, I want you," John moaned. But Death tilted his head as though he was listening to a sound John couldn't hear.
"Your friend is trying to bring you back to life," the immortal said, indicating John's mortal form. John looked down to see Mike preforming CPR. He looked back up at Death in surprise. "This is your metaphysical form. You humans assume this is your soul, but it's not. This is your projection of your inner self."
"Wow."
Death chuckled. "I have to go. You have a choice. Let your friend bring you back to life or I take your soul and you die."
John blinked. He didn't want to die, but he wanted to see this man again.
"Choose life, John. Always choose life."
John nodded and the immortal withdrew. Again Death took flight and John returned to the land of the living.
That day Mike and John decided to become doctors.
The next time John saw Death, it was not because he was dying. Rather, it was in an operating tent on an outpost in the army.
John was the chief surgeon trying to save the life of a nineteen-year-old boy, whose name he didn't know. The Private had taken a bullet to his left lung, which was filling with blood. John and his nurses were fighting furiously to drain the lung before the poor bastard died, drowning in his own juices.
John looked up at the monitor and called out, "Damn it! We're losing him!" He reached into the rib cage to pump the heart as they couldn't do chest compression with chest open. But John could tell it was of no use. And it wasn't even the machines that told him that. No, how he knew was because his dark-haired immortal was cradling the boy's head gently in one hand.
John's heart clenched when he saw Death lift the head close to his face, thinking that Death was going to kiss the boy. But Death stopped mere inches from the Private's face and inhaled. A shimmering light of gold and silver drew out of the boy's mouth and Death slowly moved away taking the globe with him. All around him, John could hear the machines going off as they screamed the loss of heart beat, but he was transfixed. Death gently rolled the ball between his fingers until it was the size of a marble. He touched it to his robe and it exploded in a flash of light. When John could see again, the soul had become a supernova on the immortal's robe, brilliant in the sea of stars.
Death smiled at John and he knew the soldier's soul would be taken care of. They called time of death and John walked out of the OR, mindlessly pulling off the operating gear. First the gloves, then the mask and cap. Then the blood-soaked operating gown. He wanted to peel everything off and cry. It had been going pretty good. Of the five men brought in for surgery, the first four had gone great. But that last…. He shook his head. He slumped to the ground and tears streamed down his face. A shadow crossed over him and he looked up expecting to see one of his nurses, but instead it was Death.
"Come with me, John," the ethereal creature purred with an extended hand. John grabbed the offered appendage and allowed Death to pull him to his feet. The immortal led the way to John's tent and closed the flap behind them.
"I have time. Time enough for this," Death explained. John nodded and pressed their lips together. A warmth spread between his legs as Death's hands wandered over the shorter man's form. Soon he was panting and dying to get the immortal into his bed.
There was a quick scramble as they hurried to remove each other's clothes. John stopped their mad dash for a moment to gently place the robe of stars on a chair and then dove to further attach himself to the god, whose skin was as pale as the moon.
They had sex on the small cot that John had been issued, John's moans filling the small space. When they finished the good doctor collapsed against Death's chest.
"Was he your first?" Death asked as they lay curled up together.
"In a manner," John replied. "It was my first since being shipped out."
Death propped himself up on his elbow and looked down into the doctor's eyes. "He was marked for death the moment the bullet entered his lung. There was nothing anyone could have done."
"Really?"
"Yes. I'm sorry you were the one who had to try," he mumbled. He lifted his head and tilted it as if hearing something distant.
"I have to go, John. Duty calls and I must answer."
"I know. I wouldn't keep you from your job. To think that by keeping you here would leave another in pain while they waited for you…." John shook his head. "Not while I breathe."
"And may that be for a long time. Good-bye."
Once the immortal was gone, John laid back on his pillow and wondered what it was people thought he was doing in here all by himself. And then he started to laugh.
This time John was sure he had been dreaming. It had been a horrible day to cap off an absolutely dreadful week. Men had been coming in by the lorry, and out of twenty men only five had made it to his table. Of those five, two made it to a hospital bed. Yesterday, one succumbed to his injuries and today, the last one died from an infection no one had spotted.
All he wanted to do was sleep his three-day leave away and not even get out of bed for anything. So he took a couple of tranquilizers and went to bed. But judging from the conversation he was hearing, he might have got the dose wrong. A bit.
"Hello, brother dear," the first one said. John didn't recognize him. He was tall, broad shouldered, with straight auburn hair and deep blue eyes. His wings were dove grey and he wore a modern three-piece suit that matched his wings perfectly. John was a little in awe of the creature, if he was honest.
But the grey immortal was nothing compared to Death, who stood by John's bedside looking horribly distressed. The other immortal eyed Death's robes with a critical eye and then raised a single eye brow at his brother.
Death rolled his eyes and the robe vanished, leaving behind a black suit and a white dress shirt. But if John looked close enough he could still see the stars that had made up the immortal's robe.
"Much better, don't you agree?" the other immortal said. "One must keep up with the times after all. It wouldn't do to be stuck in the past, now would it?"
"No one respects me in a suit," Death grumbled. "Besides the only thing stuck anywhere is that rod up your arse."
John chuckled, but the other immortal rolled his eyes.
"Must you be so childish, Thantos?" he sniffed, disdainfully. "Besides, hadn't you better be nice to me? After all, you called me in here for a favor."
Death took a deep breath. "You're right, of course. But then, you always are. I need you. I need you to reverse this." He pointed to John.
"You can't keep saving him. He was supposed to die when he was fifteen, for god's sake!" The immortal's grey wings flared in anger.
"I know, Hypnos. I know. But think of all the lives he's saved," Thantos pleaded.
"Tsk, tsk, brother. You sound like you dislike your job," Hypnos replied and his wings ruffled smugly.
"Has there ever been a Death that liked taking souls?" Thantos asked, his own wings flaring.
"Point taken." John watched in fascination as both sets of wings were giving off their immortals' state of mind as they kept their faces blank. John would have liked to have studied it further, but they were deciding his fate and he really should be paying attention to that.
"He must have bought himself some kind of good will stored up somewhere. All he wanted to do was sleep. That's your department. Just let him sleep the sleep of life and not death."
Hypnos appeared unmoved.
"Have I asked you for anything?" Thantos pleaded.
Hypnos's wings drooped. "No. Not for a couple millennia, at least."
Death's wings perked up in hope. "So, you'll save him then?"
The older immortal's wings snapped up. "But you will promise on the River Styx that the next time his number comes up, you will take him. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes!" Death jumped up in the air, pumping his fist. He danced around John's flat a bit before stopping in front of his brother. He straightened his suit coat and cleared his throat. "I solemnly swear on the River Styx that I will take the soul of John Watson the next time his form is mortally wounded."
Hypnos nodded, satisfied. He walked over to where John sat on the bed and laid his hand on his head.
The last thing John remembered was the smooth, oily tones of the grey-winged immortal whispering the word, "Sleep."
John dodged another hail of bullets as he ducked behind an overturned armored vehicle. He raised his hands over his face as sparks and shrapnel flew around his head.
He let out a long string of curses. This was supposed to have been a simple extraction, not a fucking ambush! Not for the last time he wished it was more than just him, his nurse Bill Murray, and the now-dead marine. Well, several dead marines, if you included the lorry driver and the two escorts. He had radioed for backup god knows how many times and all he ever got was static. He hoped to hell there was some god up there listening, because otherwise he and Murray were as dead as those marines.
John looked up to see his nurse motioning him to the better shelter of the stone house. Murray returned fire, hoping to draw most of the hail of bullets away from the captain. John dashed for the open door; he was almost there when he felt a piercing pain in his left shoulder. He fell forward to the ground. Murray pulled him the rest of the way, randomly shooting at their attackers.
"Fuck, Captain," Murray whispered. He immediately began extracting the round from John's shoulder.
John cried out in pain, "Please, god! Let me live!"
"I gotcha, Cap," his nurse murmured.
But they didn't know it wasn't going to be enough. Strolling through the gun fire and destruction was Death. His wings were outstretched in righteous anger, his robe whirled around him like it was caught in a storm, his eyes blazed incandescent light. Had anyone been able to see him, they would have shrunk back in fear. As it was, every insurgent he passed paused and uttered a prayer as the chill the immortal was giving off enveloped him.
"Come on, Cap," Murray cried. "In Arduis Fidelis, remember?"
"Faithful in adversity," Death intoned. John looked up at the immortal and tears streamed down his face.
"So, this is it, then, Thantos?"
"I'm afraid so, John," Death agreed. The immortal closed his eyes as his own tears escaped.
"I don't regret knowing you. I just wish…."
Death picked up John and held him close. "I know. But you can't dance with Death and live, John."
John pushed back, just enough to look Death in the eye. "Will it hurt?"
"No, John. It's like falling asleep," Death explained.
The doctor nodded. "I'm ready now."
Death leaned forward to inhale and draw out the soul when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Thantos," Hypnos muttered.
"Why did you stop me? I was about to take his soul!" Death snapped.
"I know and I am proud of you. But the powers that be have granted his last desire."
Death whirled to face his brother, his arm still draped around John's waist. "I don't understand."
"He wished to live, Thantos. They sent me to do again what I did all those years ago."
"Slumber, instead of death. Yes, he's about to pass out from blood loss, but he will live."
He looked back and at John, whose expression was one of shock and awe. When he said it, he had no idea anyone was actually listening. Death gave him a swift kiss.
"John, I have to go. I love you. I love you," the immortal said in a rush.
"I love you, too."
The last thing he saw before he passed out was the sight of the brothers deep into a conversation that appeared to be getting heated.
John woke up in hospital a week later. His Colonel from the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers stopped by. He stood at the end of the bed and shook his head.
"If there was ever a lad that exemplified the Northumberland Fusilier motto, it would be you, Watson."
"Quo Fata Vocant," John muttered.
"'Whither the Fates call.' Damn Watson, you have got to be one of the luckiest sons a bitch, I have ever met. That should have killed you."
John just shook his head. He knew.
"Who got us out?" he asked instead.
"You aren't going to like it," the Colonel chuckled.
"Who?"
"The Royal Engineers."
John closed his eyes.
"They were out building a school nearby and heard the call."
"Now, there's a group that exemplifies their motto, fucking glory hounds," John spat.
"Ubique quo fas et gloria ducunt," the Colonel chuckled. "'Everywhere where duty and glory leads.' Don't be too hard on them, Watson, they got you and Murray out alive."
John scoffed.
"I'm afraid you're out," the Colonel said. "The docs say that you won't get much fine motor skill back in your hand. You'll be able to hold a pencil again, but a scalpel is out."
John closed his eyes. To never be a surgeon again? That was the price he had to pay, to live.
"Nothing you can do?"
"You probably won't able to hold a rifle properly and you know damn well a desk job would kill you," his officer explained.
He opened his eyes and saw the pity there.
"You'll get the Victoria's Cross for this, if that's any consolation."
It wasn't.
Soon after that, the Colonel left and a nurse came in. She was a pretty red-head with curves that would make any hot-blooded male pant. John was too angry to care.
She looked at him and smirked. "I've seen your medical file, I know your kind. Always dancing on the edge of danger, thinking you're invincible."
John glared at her.
"Dance with the devil and you'll get burned," she said as she roughly took his blood pressure.
He shook his head. "Danced with Death," he corrected.
"One and the same, if you ask me," she snapped.
"Well, I didn't," he growled in response. She flounced off and John was glad to be rid of the annoying creature.
He had been home a couple of months when he passed through a small park on his way back to his bedsit from his therapist. He had to keep going to her even though he thought she was completely useless. He was about half way through this park when he heard someone call out his name. He turned to see a portly man with thick glasses waving him down. After a spot of confusion, John learned that this was Mike Stamford, the man from that fateful trip that saved his life.
They sat and talked. Well, mostly it was Mike having to drag conversation out of him. He tried not to sound bitter when he told Mike he couldn't afford living in London. He didn't think he succeeded.
"Why not a flatshare?" Mike asked.
John scoffed and shook his head, "Who'd want me as flatmate?"
Mike laughed and introduced him to the brilliant and heartbreakingly beautiful Sherlock Holmes. Looking at him took John's breath away. He looked like his beloved Thantos. That was when he decided he would follow this doppelgänger to the ends of the earth. If he couldn't have his Thantos, he could at least be friends with his twin.
He even ended up shooting someone for Sherlock within a day of knowing him and then went out for Chinese.
They were laughing at Sherlock's predictions of the fortune cookies when suddenly Sherlock's expression turned serious.
And in the silence that followed John blurted out, "You remind me someone."
"Oh?" the detective asked.
"I can't explain without sounding completely mad, but you remind of someone I love."
"Like I have any room to speak of in the sanity department," Sherlock replied.
John laughed, "Well that's certainly true. But this will definitely get me sanctioned."
They fell silent again.
After a few moments Sherlock spoke, "Have you heard of the motif, 'Death and the Maiden?'"
John shook his head, "I mean I know there is a painting called that, but I didn't know it was a motif."
"There are actually several paintings called that. They are all based on the same motif. It is an erotic form of the dance with death."
"Danse Macabre," John muttered.
"Indeed. In 'Death and the Maiden,' the dance is viewed to be romantic or sexual instead of the great equalizer it is in danse macabre. Instead of Death telling mortal man that man, woman, child, old, young, famous, or obscure, he will come for them all, there is the notion that Death can love."
"Death loves," John said with conviction.
"You say that with such confidence. How can you be so sure?" Sherlock was leaning forward, his arms resting on the table.
"Because…" John faltered. He shook his head. He might as well go all in. "Because I have fallen in love with Death and he with me."
"Is that so?" Sherlock's voice became rough and deep. "And if you could be with Death, what would you give to be by his side forever?"
"Anything." John's face furrowed.
"Even your own life?" Sherlock pushed.
John pulled out a pocket knife out of his trousers and held it to the veins on his wrist. Sherlock gasped and after a brief struggle, managed to wrestle the knife from the doctor's grasp.
"What the hell were you thinking!" He growled at John as he put the knife in the pocket of his Belstaff.
"Proving that I would do anything to be with Death." John leaned back in seat and crossed his arms over his chest.
Sherlock grabbed his hair in frustration. "By slitting your wrist in a Chinese restaurant?"
John shrugged one shoulder. "If that's what it takes, then yes."
"You idiot, you beautiful idiot," Sherlock breathed. "You don't have to."
"So you say."
"I do say, John. Because I already did."
"Come again?" John asked unfolding his arms.
"I gave up my wings, my work, my immortality to be with the one person who looked beyond the gruesome nature of my profession to the heart beneath. To be with you."
"Thantos?"
"Yes, John."
"But how?" John's voice cracked.
"I am not the first Death, nor will I be the last. When the job becomes too much of a burden we can chose to enter mortality. Though, usually it's into a baby being born. An exception was made for me. Sherlock was supposed to have died shortly after you returned to England, but I was able to draw out his soul and replace it with my own."
"Wow. And Mycroft looking like Hypnos, is what? A coincidence?"
"A delicious one, but yes."
John laughed. "Take me home, then."
Sherlock laughed too and proceeded to do just that. They began kissing at the door and shed their clothing as they ascended the seventeen steps to their flat. They were completely naked by the time they reached Sherlock's room. John kicked the door shut and then pushed his detective on the bed. He advanced on Sherlock like a panther on the prowl, the dark-haired man threw back his head in desire at the sight and moaned. John let out an answering groan.
The sex that followed was slow and sweet and full of everything the two men couldn't say out loud. It was loving and tender, but full of passion and danger. When they had made the other come in the most beautiful ways, they fell to bed, exhausted.
"I love you, John."
"I love you, too, Sherlock. My dear Thantos."
Sherlock smiled and then buried his head into the crook of John's shoulder. The doctor chuckled and wrapped his arms around him.
In the corner of the room, invisible to the mortal men, Hypnos stood in the corner, having just barely arrived. He looked down at his brother, happy that Thantos had found someone to love.
"Sleep," he said raising his hands and his wings followed. "Sleep and know that you watched over."
The two men drifted off in each other's arms, safe and happy at last.